Building RESPECT: A Blueprint for Restorative Justice at Work

Sometimes when you are delivering value, it doesn’t immediately translate to a KPI.
That’s what made building RESPECT so beautiful — and so hard.
It wasn’t just about the circle.
It was about creating a structure that could last beyond me.

Because I knew I was leaving.
Long before I submitted my resignation.
Long before leadership shifted.
Long before the budget froze.

I knew.
But I wanted the work to continue.

We Built a System

After Keaton left, I didn’t lead alone.
I did for about a year, then Nancy (an OG member) stepped up. A year later, Sophie.
Together, we formed a tri-chair model — a leadership structure rooted in clarity, care, and succession.

We created:

  • Position descriptions

  • A shared governance model

  • Recruitment pathways

  • Term limits

  • Performance and culture goals

  • An annual operating budget (we asked for $50K — and honestly, that was light, but we received $24K — still strong)

And when we needed feedback?
We didn’t guess.
We asked.
We shared drafts, got community input, then adjusted.

That’s what restorative models require: iteration. Dialogue. Consent.

We Made It Work (Even When It Shouldn’t Have)

In six years, we trained over 50+ cohort across departments (many served multiple years), over 400+ community members, facilitated 100+ bias-related pre-conferences, conferences, and community-driven conversations. From 2021-2024, we made sure every incoming first-year student learned about REPECT during orientation. Our restorative circles were built for:

  • Students

  • Faculty

  • Staff / Administrators (e.g., Public Safety, Advisors, etc.)

  • Student Organizations / Leaders (e.g., Resident Assistants, Student Ambassadors, etc.)

  • Community partners (e.g., Conduct, EEOC, etc.)

Even during COVID (this was when it was just Keaton and I), we didn’t stop.
Because harm didn’t stop.
And repair still had to happen.

We offered live (virtual) pre-conference coaching, circle support, and healing spaces — all while juggling our “real jobs.”
And we did it with love.
But also with structure.

Yes—Budgets Matter, but in New York… So Do Fresh Bagels.

I’ll be real: I’m the employee who will always ask for more money.
Because I used to be the employee who didn’t.

Until my amazing former supervisor at Kenyon College — shoutout to Chris — taught me to ask for more for myself.

He literally helped me negotiate my first salary offer.
(Story time: It’s my first job out of graduate school. It was early may and graduation was 10 days away. I received the call from the hiring manager —Chris. He began, “Monique, we would like to offer you…” Y’all, before he finished, I said “I accept.” He paused mid-offer and said something to the effect of, “Do you mean you’d like to negotiate for more?” I said, “No. I said I accept.” Y’all, he tried three times, even slowed it down. Until I got it. I then repeated what he was saying, which led me to earning a few thousand more than I was first willing to accept. I mean honestly y’all, that’s real advocacy—that man didn’t know me from Adam, but… he saw my value, and wanted to make sure I knew I was worth more than a first offer.)

He also taught me how to truly advocate for my then clients (the students). He taught me how to write budget proposals that told the story, how to leverage data and develop reports for the Board of Trustees, and back up every student-centered ask with a solid rationale. He never said no to anything that was for a student or enhanced their overall experience.

He didn’t just support me — he trained me.
And that shaped how I lead and advocate now.

Without his knowing, he taught me how to form what I now call “audacity”. (That’s for a later post—back to asking for what you want and knowing what you need.). After him was Nada and Doc, and they both became my champions. In other roles, and from stories of my peers, I knew what it felt like to deliver high value… and still feel and literally be underpaid.
Especially in roles centered around equity, care, and community.

I realized how many of us doing culture-shifting labor were under-resourced, and as an audacious leader, I committed to doing things differently.

I also realized something else:
When I had what I needed — rent, gas, a MetroCard, lunch without worry — I showed up better.
I wasn’t anxious.
I wasn’t running on fumes.
I could focus. Lead. Create. Breathe.

(I mean isn’t that what psychologist Abraham Mazlow’s Hierarchy is to get us all to understand with this whole Hierarchy of Needs. So, why do many leaders or budget administrators forget this. SMH. I digress.)

In short, that’s what funding does. It makes real care possible.

So yes — I asked for a $50K budget.
Not for fluff.
But for:

  • A legit training plan

  • An annual consulting partner

  • Admin support

  • Hot meals for all-day sessions or monthly in-person convenings

  • Real stipends for facilitators and members

People ask why the snacks or meals matter.
Here’s why:
You can’t hold transformative space if folks are depleted.
And if you want a five-day training to be successful, you better feed people. Period.

The Exit Plan Was the Point

I didn’t want RESPECT to die just because I left.
So I helped build a decentered model — one where any of the co-leads could step into full leadership.
Where new leaders could be trained, supported, and paid.
Where membership wasn't just voluntary labor but recognized as institutional value.

But even with all that work… we still hit resistance.

Even with the structure in place, we felt it: the shift.
Leadership changed.
The purpose was no longer clear to everyone.
Budgets were delayed or dismissed.
And slowly, the care we poured in was met with questions we’d already answered.

Malcolm Gladwell, in his book The Tipping Point, talks about the power of a committed minority — how just a small group can create major change when the conditions are right.

I believed RESPECT could be that.
We had the structure.
We had the heart.
We were near the edge of something transformative.

But instead of tipping forward, we were asked to prove what we had already demonstrated.

People questioned our value — not because we weren’t effective, but because they didn’t understand what we were really doing.
They weren’t ingrained in the work or the practice, so how could they?

To the point where non–restorative justice trained leaders, who had never attended a restorative circle, were appointed to lead — not phased in, just given a role without enough insight.

It wasn’t their fault, but it soon became their duty.

Those people couldn’t understand…
We weren’t just doing “another training.”
We were shifting culture.

And I didn’t have the energy left to convince.

I knew what kind of leader I was — and am.

In her book Radical Candor, Kim Scott describes two types of high-performing employees: rockstars and superstars.
Rockstars are steady, dependable culture-builders.
Superstars are growth-driven change agents.

I’ve been both — and in this work, I was both.
Building a foundation while dreaming big.
Creating systems that could outlast me.
Working with other rockstars and superstars who were just as committed to transformation as I was.

The blueprint was there, even if I could no longer be.

So, I exited the dryer.
But I took the low-heat settings with me.
And I kept the methods and instructions of a well-informed care plan — one rooted in love, structure, community, restoration, and repair.

It’s from that experience that I decided to create resources for any organization ready to turn down the heat.
To build something gentler.
To embed restorative communities like a care setting — one that carefully fluffs, lightly tosses, and protects its most precious items (its people), the way a good dryer — set to the right temperature — protects and rejuvenates our favorite clothes.

Lessons Turned Into a Blueprint for You

A restorative justice program can’t run on vibes alone. It needs:

  • Budget

  • Vision

  • Champions

  • Governance

  • Training

  • Partnership with departments like compliance, HR, legal, and safety

It can function like an employee resource group, but to optimize, it needs the depth of a business resource group —
to give it both care and compliance. Culture and accountability.

And if you’re serious about creating a workplace that heals instead of harms?
You have to invest (even if you can’t fully quantify its appreciating value).

The Lo Down is this… Restorative communities aren’t a luxury line item — they’re infrastructure.
And when built right, they can change everything. So, let’s build it together.

With Care,


Mo 💓

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Thank You for Seeing Me: A Love Letter to My Restorative Justice Community